Those Bloody Colonials!
by TheFirstOfThisName
Summary: The story of an American forced by fate and the minions of a Dark Lord to take refuge in his mother's homeland, and find a way to master the power within him to take his revenge. WIP, Rated M for Language, Violence, and Potential for other stuff. Enjoy!


Disclaimer: Despite how much we all want to, I do not own anything here.

Disclaimer Two: This is a work of fiction, entirely inspired by my own insanity and a bizarre thought which came to me whilst sitting on my porch, dyeing leather. Any resemblance to other fics is coincidental, and I apologize for...chance?

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**

If one were to inquire as to what made Eli Thatcher special, he would have come up with two things. The first, readily apparent to anyone within sight of him, was his remarkable height. For a fifteen year-old boy to stand near to six and a half feet tall was no mean feat, though he was always quick to remind anyone who commented that this simply resulted from a chance selection of the particular trait whilst he was in the womb. After all, it isn't as though tall people do anything to become tall; they just are.

However, his rapid growth had left him tall and gangling, rather uncomfortable with his body, leading him to become increasingly awkward throughout his years in junior high school. Particularly in the mandatory gym class provided by the state of New Hampshire and its public school system, Eli often found himself the butt of cruel jokes, teasing, and in some cases, outright bullying from his peers, simply because he didn't fit the mold society rendered as normal.

After the end of particularly rough days, he would ride in one of Hanover Middle School's ancient buses back to his family's small cottage in the woodlands of New England, taunted all the way. Whether it was stupid songs about how he was a giant galoot, or jokes about how his not very well to-do father couldn't always make ends meet, or even something so minute as the way he talked, bus rides were always hell for Eli. The evil woman who drove his route, Ms. Harrigan, resembled something akin to a giant walrus which had arms and legs rather than flippers, and would never intercede. In fact, the one time she had even bothered to notice, she just gave the other kids pointers on better ways to ensure a worm made its way into his lunch, or the proper form for giving a truly painful wedgie.

And so, it was a daily ritual for Eli to arrive home, nearly in tears, to be met by the stern countenance of Reverend Amos Zachariah Thatcher, the local preacher and most intense disciplinarian of all time.

The only words he would have for his weeping son were that he should "turn the other cheek to the blow of his accuser". And then, if Eli ever physically or verbally retaliated, he was taken back to the woodshed for a stiff whipping. Every little session off instruction was always concluded with a reading off Scriptures, and an admonishment: "Elijah Nahum Thatcher. Unrepentant sinners are in the danger of the fires of Hell, my boy."

By this time, it would be nearing dark, and so Eli would finally make it home after a day of unchallenged agony at school, or an attempted intercession on the part of his dad for the salvation of his soul.

The one thing that made his days bearable was Mom. It was actually kind of funny to Eli. They couldn't be more different. She still spoke with the British accent that she had come to America with a decade or more before, while he sounded like his dad: uncultured, guttural, and blunt. He was the image of Reverend Thatcher: unruly brown hair, hazel eyes, and sun-tanned skin, while she had the most startlingly blue eyes and coal-black hair that fell in ringlets about her shoulders. When he looked in the mirror, the only indication he could find that she was actually his mother was his smile. Or, at least, that's what Mom said. Eli wasn't too sure himself. He thought it felt more than a little weird smiling at yourself in the mirror.

Regardless of the physical resemblance, Mom was always there whenever the kids at school were at their most unkind, or Dad's talk about hellfire, brimstone, and the need for a quiet and chaste life seemed ready to drive him crazy. She would hold him close, and tell him stories about her home and life growing up in England. Dad didn't like to talk about that a lot, though. She never mentioned it to him, or really much of how they met. Thee only time Eli had ever heard his parents talk about England was shortly after his eleventh birthday, when an owl of all things got into his room. It was perhaps the only time he'd ever seen his father get truly angry, raising his voice to shout about how he would never see his son with "those people", and their demon-worshipping, Satan-loving ilk. Eli had chanced a glance at the subject of the argument, and saw a small letter with an archaic seal affixed to it. He'd only had time to make out one word: _Hogwarts_.

The second unusual thing about Elijah Nahum Thatcher was that he could do..._things._

When he was especially scared, or mad at the bullies at school, or was hurt, weird stuff happened.

When he was nine, he'd fallen out of a tree in the forests behind his home. It was a good twenty-foot drop, and all Eli had been able to do was throw his arms up in front of him and shield his face. But he didn't hit the ground after a straight fall. Instead, when he opened his eyes, he found his noise floating five inches from the forest floor. He grew panicked, and just as abruptly he landed, getting crunchy leaves in his now open, shocked mouth.

But that wasn't the end of it. One time, a while after the incident with the owl, he'd been cornered on the playground by a group of the usual bullies, led by the infamous Jack Harper, lord of the jungle gym, himself. However, once Harper had been run off by a small swarm of mosquitoes, he quickly resigned from his position as Eli's primary tormentor and reverted to going with insults and spreading rumors. These rumors entailed anything from Eli being possessed by a demon and able to call on the servants of the Devil, or that he was actually a witch, just like the girls in Salem were back in the early days. Most of the other kids laughed these ideas off, but no one really wanted to associate with Eli Thatcher. After all, he was just so damn weird.

* * *

In the summer of 1995, an ocean and several time zones away, a Dark Lord readied his disciples for his triumphant return. Ten men and women in hooded black robes and wearing silver masks stood at attention, relishing in the first taste of freedom in fourteen long years.

The island fortress of Azkaban loomed behind them, the black rocks below, and the scent of the sea spray all around. Enormous waves crashed against their rocky refuge, and the mist hung in the air. The dark wizard spoke, his figure shrouded. "My friends...so good to see you all once again."

A woman's voice shrieked, "Master! I knew it! Rodolphus and I _knew_ you could not be defeated by the Potter brat! These others-"

One hand rose up, cutting her off. The ten fell to their knees, eyes downcast. "Bellatrix, sweet girl." He pushed back his hood slowly, revealing the newly formed face of Lord Voldemort himself, skin pale and features serpentine. His nostrils flared, the tiny slits in his face that they were. "I have returned. Make no mistake, I shall call every witch and wizard in Britain to account for their actions, whether a failure in my service or a victory for our enemies." He paused, letting his words roll over them. "Britain is ripe for liberation. The Ministry refuses to believe that I have returned, Dumbledore is discredited, and Potter is a reckless child. There shall be no escape through trickery and luck for them this time. So go. Find the faithful. Bring them back into the fold. Destroy those who fled my wrath."

He was reborn, and there would be none who could withstand him this time. 'The Only Wizard He Ever Feared' would be exposed as the ancient, doddering old fool he was, and when Harry Potter's empty husk of a corpse was lying on the ground before him, he would spread his truth across the planet.

Yes, it was good to be back indeed.

* * *

Director Amelia Bones sat in her office in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, rather perturbed by the message she had received from the Floo connection in Boston. As she looked down at the letter on her desk, she saw that two of the Azkaban escapees, former Death Eaters Mr. Rabastan Lestrange and Mr. Travers, had been sighted there. She had already fought with Cornelius to allow her to send Shacklebolt and Tonks after them, but the proposal had been readily defeated. He wanted the public to be sure that everything was 'under control'. She'd made some headway with the American government, though why the Death Eaters would go Stateside was beyond her pay grade. Madame Bones did send a note by the way of Albus Dumbledore, for old times sake; it would be likely be best if he were aware of the whereabouts of dark wizards too.

* * *

The fifteen year-old Elijah Travers was a much happier boy than the one who had struggled through middle school. Gone was much of the awkwardness which had plagued him as a beanpole of a boy, clumsy and skinny. Now, with the assistance of his high school's football coach, his six feet and fives inches tall frame carried a bit of muscle on it, as Coach Mooresby wanted very dearly to beat out Green Mountain High for the Conference title next fall. He saw Eli, a soon to be starting varsity player, as a stepping stone to that goal.

Eli had just returned to his small cottage home surrounded by New Hampshire forest when he heard raised voices from inside. As he placed his hand on the knob, he realized it was his parents.

He recognized his dad's voice vehemently spouting, "...not going to be run from my own home at the behest of some Satan-hugging voodoo-casting British monster!"

His mother seemed irate as well. She said in an icily dangerous voice, "And what about me, Amos? Am I some evil abomination as well?"

"Sahra, don't be silly! Of course not. Your gifts are a blessing from the Father, and expression of the power of the Spirit. I meant these dangerous, evil fellows you're going on about!"

"So, you do think they are dangerous!"

"Of course they are! Revered Thatcher snapped. "You wouldn't have run three thousand miles across the Atlantic to New England otherwise!"

She sighed heavily. "I can't protect you or Eli, Amos. And you can't stop them. Eli doesn't even know that he's a wizard, and you're a Muggle. A handsome, devout and brave one," she said, while Eli's mind raced, "but still a Muggle. The last time a McKinnon and a Death Eater crossed paths...well, you know."

"I do. And I shall not permit that to happen again, wife. The Lord rewards the faithful."

What was this? Had they both lost it? Eli was pretty sure he'd heard his mom say he was a wizard, and his dad didn't deny it. _What the fuck? _After a moment or two of disbelief, strange thoughts began to creep into his mind. There had been plenty of odd things happening around him, ever since he was a kid. It made a twisted sort of sense that it hadn't been pure dumb luck. Of course, he failed to see how a massive swarm of insects could suddenly gather and attack a kid who would have been otherwise intent on beating the living shit out of him on accident.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door, interrupting his mother's answer.

She immediately ran over to Eli and gave him a hug, having to reach up to ruffle his hair. "Eli, sweetheart! You're back early, aren't you?"

"No," he replied simply, "I'm back the same time as always. Say, the two of you haven't gone completely insane, have you?"

Mom blinked. "Huh?"

"Yeah. The way I see it, either you're both crazy or you've been lying to me. I don't even want to think about what it means if you're liars. Is there a reason neither of you have been chucked in the loony bin already?"

Reverend Thatcher stood up quickly, his face like a thunderhead. "Elijah Nahum Thatcher," he hissed, each syllable like a slap, "You will -not- speak to your mother in that fashion."

For her part, Sahra ignored her irate husband. "I take it you heard what I said, then?"

"Every word, _Mom." _Eli was more than a little upset.

She turned back to the still fuming preacher. "Amos, dear, give us a minute, please?"

Grumbling to himself, Reverend Thatcher stumped off for the front porch.

After a long moment, Sahra smiled wanly. "I guess I have a bit of explaining to do, huh, sweetie?"

"Yeah," he replied shortly.

She turned and sat down in the small wood-backed chair. She gestured to the coach. "You will want to be sitting for this, I think, Eli."

He did so, though unhappily, and folded his arms across his chest.

Sahra sighed, and met her son's gaze. "We haven't been completely forthright with you. It was done because I thought it could protect you, if you weren't in my old world, and I was in your father's. After all, you've been safe here, right?"

Eli nodded, though reluctantly. He hastened to add, "It's not like I fit in."

His mother nodded in turn. "Right you are, dearie. Perhaps I was wrong to try to keep you from discovering your powers, but..." She trailed off. Refocusing, Sahra leaned forward to take her son's hands in her own. "I am sorry for lying to you for all these years, Eli. Do not blame your father. He didn't really even know until six months after we first met. He wanted to tell you, but I didn't feel..." She paused. "Perhaps it was wrong of me. You would only have discovered it on your own, I'm sure."

Eli blinked. His father had wanted to tell him he was a freak? He cleared his throat. "Erm. Mom. I've known I can do..._things._ I've known it since I was like...well, always."

"These _things _you can do, honey, are done through magic."

"So that's what you mean when you say I'm a wizard?" Eli hazarded. "Does that mean you're a witch?" He ventured.

Rather than reply, his mother pulled a long, thin wooden rod out the back pocket of her jeans. Flicking it in the air, she said decisively, "_Wingardium Leviosa!" _At her strange command, his chair left the ground. Alarmed, he hurriedly stepped up, only to watch as his erstwhile seat made gentle contact with the ceiling.

Eli didn't think his jaw could drop much further than the floor, but it did.

Chuckling throatily at his reaction, Sahra murmured "_Finite Incantatem" _and brandished the rod. "This is my wand. It serves as a focus for my magical abilities. Without it, most wizards and witches are limited to very weak, very basic spells - if they ever learn to control wandless magic."

Seeing his shock, she continued, "I went to school back in Britain, at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It is the oldest institution in Europe, and remains its premier school. It is probably the best wizarding school in the entire world."

Eli, unnaturally quiet, cut in softly, "If it was so great there, why did you leave?"

"There was a war." Sahra's tone was subdued, her eyes pained as she spoke. "A great dark wizard, the Lord Voldemort," she said this last part in a hushed whisper, "or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, came to power. He gathered hundreds of wizarding folk to his side, and they became the Death Eaters. For years, no one dared openly stand against them, else they would be murdered in their homes with their families killed. The government, our Ministry of Magic, was powerless to stop him. A group of Death Eaters killed my family. Everyone. I survived because they didn't think to do a head count of the bodies. The Death Eaters exterminated my entire family, Eli. Everyone."

"How was he defeated? This dark lord? How did they beat him?" Eli asked quietly.

"When he went to kill another family, the Potters. Lily was a good friend of mine, and James was...well, he was a friend too." She took a deep breath. "He killed James, and then he killed Lily. But somehow, we he tried to kill their baby boy, Harry, he was in turned defeated. Killed, somehow. And then the Ministry told everyone they would forever be safe..." She said sarcastically. "Now that they've broken free, they won't stop. They are going to cause suffering in the name of their former master, I'm sure of it." His mother bit down on her lip. "Can you see now why I did not want for you to know?"

Eli nodded. "I...I do. But Mom, if they didn't know you survived, how could we be in any danger at all?"

As Sahra's mouth opened to answer him, the booming report of his father's shotgun beat her to it.

* * *

Reverend Amos Zachariah Thatcher was leaning back in his rocking chair, trying to make himself calm down. It wasn't the boy's fault. He would have been furious if he found out his own parents had kept a secret like that from him. _In fact, if it weren't for the self-control bestowed upon me by the Spirit, I'd likely have picked a fight, instead of calmly talking. _But despite Elijah's momentary lapses in courtesy, he really was proud of his son. Eli was a good boy, and Amos was sure that he would be able to serve the Kingdom faithfully.

However, he was certain Sahra would insist on teaching him. That would mean a trip to that nest of sin and debauchery, New York City, and lots of hard earned cash shoveled out for a wand and probably more of those bizarre Druidic books filled with Latin phrases and diagrams. Devil-worshipping gibberish, the lot of it, but that simply meant Reverend Thatcher would have to spend extra time in the Word with his son. Maybe Eli could even start a Bible study of his own?

Yes, there were plenty of new things to do.

As he was running the idea of encouraging Elijah to join the men's choir through his mind, Amos heard a sharp crack, like a gunshot out among the trees. Slowly reaching down beneath his chair, he eased his trusty Remington 1100 out of its hidden strap. He got to his feet, one hand on the barrel and the other at its stock as two figures in hooded black robes approached.

He called out, "Well hey there! Who are you?"

Both of them wore gleaming silver masks, the eyes of which were like snakes, tiny little slits. He would have sworn they seemed like they were grinning. "Your proper masters. Kneel, Muggle, before your betters."

"I don't kneel to men, stranger. Just God. And Sahra told me all about your kind, _Death Eater._ Now get off my property." He hefted his 12-gauge threateningly in front of him.

"You would stand in my path, worm?" The fellow sounded incredulous.

Sighing, Reverend Thatcher said a silent prayer, asking forgiveness for what was to come. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

He had the audacity to laugh. "Faugh! What are you going to use, a sword? A club? I think _I _can handle a single piece of Muggle filth. Finishing off the McKinnon bitch will be-"

Amos never would find out what the demon-kissing lump on the devil's backside thought about killing his wife. At the word 'bitch', the preacher's finger jerked on the trigger, releasing a heavy shell right into the bastard's groin. There was a spray of blood, and the wizard was thrown backwards and off of the wooden stairs by the force of the impact. The other cried, "Travers! Damnit!" As Amos pumped the shotgun, the second fellow's hand shot to his side. Whipping out his wand, he swept it in a wide arc, the tip pointed directly at Amos' face. "_Avada Kedavra!"_

A surge of green light came rushing towards him, and he knew no more.

* * *

Eli shoved open the door, taking care to place himself between the entryway and his mother. He saw the unnaturally still body of his father lying on the porch. On the grass at the foot of the stairs, he saw a bloody ruin of a figure in dark robes and bent down to nudge his shoulder. "Dad?"

There was no response. From inside Sahra shrieked, "Amos! _NO!"_

From behind him came a cackling voice, "What's the matter ickle Sahra? Missing your pet already?"

"Dolohov." Eli spun around, to see him mother confronting the another man in black robes. A springy looking wand was in her hand. The man she called 'Dolohov' had gone around to the back door, it seemed. It didn't matter, though. Eli was going to kill the bastard. He could feel the hot tears of grief and rage streaming down his cheeks. _He killed Dad._

As if sensing her son's intentions, Sahra spoke without looking back. "No, Eli! This is my fight."

His father's killer seemed to smile at him from behind his mask. "You rutted with that thing, McKinnon? Tsk, tsk. Blood traitors your family were, I thought you might still know better than _that._ Although, I must say, he appears to be a remarkable boy...for the spawn of some backcountry American Muggle."

Her wand was up in a flash. "_Lacero!" _The beam of energy sped towards him. The Death Eater stepped out of the way with practiced ease. He even turned his head slightly to watch it go by. "Your aim leaves something to be desired, ickle Sa-"

He was cut short as a blast of light knocked him from his feet and out the window. Hurriedly, Sahra snatched an old family photograph off the mantel. Touching her wand to it, she murmured "_Portus". _It was then pressed into Eli's hands. Cupping his cheeks, she spoke quickly. "Darling, take this. You will say 'Marlene' and it will take you someplace safe. Ask for Tom. Tell him you need to see Albus Dumbledore. I can only hope that he will listen. Regardless, Eli, remember everything that your father taught you. Be strong, valorous, and do not life your life in fear." Pressing a kiss to his forehead, she smiled wanly. "I love you, Eli, but go! Now!" This last was shouted as she spun away, returning to her duel with Dolohov.

Eli was nearly overcome with anguish, and as much as he hated himself for doing so, he whispered, "Marlene."

The world began to spin, and his small cottage in New Hampshire slipped away, but the last thing he heard was the voice of the man who would make him an orphan as he shouted, "_Avada Kedavra!"_


End file.
